I want to help  I don't need to care
by CharlieTheLessFamous
Summary: Four times John wanted to help anyone, and one time he was specific.  Four times Sherlock didn't care, and one time he did.
1. Chapter 1

AN: Some of you may have read the note on my profile – if not, do, please – explaining that my online accounts – here, deviantart, hotmail, etc – have had an uninvited (sort of) user. All that is now sorted, and anything and everything posted here is written by and posted by me. All previous fiction was mine, but posted by a friend due to my sporadic internet access. I now have proper internet again, and she is in disgrace.

On to the story then. This is sort of four and one – four times John wanted to save anyone and everyone, and one time he wanted to save someone very specific. Rated for a teeny bit of language and a kiss.

Charlotte x.

Disclaimer: I don't own Sherlock.

When he was six years old, John Watson told his big sister Harriet that he wanted to be a policeman. Harriet laughed, ruffled his hair, and said that if that's what he wants to be, that's what he'll be. John turned to leave the room, and then turned back, looking at his sister with a curious expression, and asked her what _she _wanted to be when she was grown up. Harry considered for a minute, then walked over to the window and fussed with the tie backs on the floral curtains. Finally, she answered. "I just want to be happy"

Eight years later, John was at secondary school, Harry was engaged – so happy – and the Careers Guidance Councillor asked him what he wanted to be. Unlike all the other pupils, who shrugged and muttered "dunno" or else replied "footballer", "hairdresser", "famous", John smiled at the woman and explained to her that, when he was little, he wanted to be a policeman, because then he could help people. But maybe not enough people. He didn't want to be a fire fighter, because that meant climbing ladders, and he hated heights. So what did that leave? "I want to be a doctor."

Four years later, and John was just starting Uni. Harry and Clara now owned a house, and were even happier than before, Harry had even stopped drinking. John loved the medical course he was on – even if it wasn't the one he'd originally chosen. This one was aimed towards a career in the army, rather than the bloodless surgery specialization he'd considered for several months. Which is probably why Harry asked him – for the first and last time – what he actually wanted. John rolled his eyes, and gave her a one-armed hug. "I want to help people, however I can."

When John was in Afghanistan – up to his elbows in blood ten times a day – he never really got asked if he wanted to do something, he was told what to do and expected to do it. In fact, only once during his whole tour of duty was he given a choice, and even then it was limited. He could either go with his platoon and keep them alive, or stay here and ensure his own safety. John's answer didn't vary from his previous ones. "I'll go with the platoon. I'm not here for me; I want to save people."

John is standing in a cold, darken swimming pool, next to a sociopath who probably didn't know what it meant to be happy. His sister has split from her wife, his parents are dead, and at least a dozen snipers are aiming at them. So when Sherlock turns to him and asks what he wants him to do, John's answer is selfish, but it's honest. He pulls Sherlock close, kisses him, and replies "I want you to be happy." Sherlock smiles back, kisses back, turns to face Moriarty, and aims the gun at the vest. Then replies: "I already am"

**AN: Want more? Review!**


	2. Chapter 2

**AN: Yes, I know, I shouldn't succumb to peer pressure. But I did. So: Four times Sherlock couldn't care less, and one time he couldn't have cared more. Rated for a mention of drugs and a kiss. J/S. Minor spoilers for "The Great Game".**

**Disclaimer: I don't own Sherlock (*MAJOR sulk*)**

When Sherlock Holmes was eleven years old, his parents decided that the best thing to do with him would be to send him 'away' to a private boarding school. His older brother had just left Eton, so there was no reason Sherlock shouldn't follow in his footsteps. If they were put in his situation, most children would cry, sulk, scream, and plead in an effort to be allowed to stay home. Sherlock just fell silent, which in anyone else could be mistaken for sulking, but which Mycroft knew was Sherlock's way of showing that he really didn't care at all.

At the age of thirteen, Sherlock was still an outsider; quiet, studious, thin, pale: not exactly the sort of person had had lots of friends. Some of his fellow pupils decided to use this to their advantage. Sherlock might be able to run quickly, but they always caught up eventually. The final time this happened, they shoved him off a roof, on to concrete. Sherlock broke his left leg in two places. When his parents asked if he wanted to leave Eton, to find some people who might like him a bit more, Sherlock replied simply "I don't really care."

Five years later, Sherlock was supposed to start university. He had offers of places at Oxford, Cambridge, and Durham, which was impressive for someone who rarely spoke, paid little attention to lessons, and didn't seem to ever actually study. Most people would have being thrilled at their stroke of luck, but Sherlock didn't even look at the prospectuses his teachers showed him. It was Mycroft who finally snapped, and asked if Sherlock was being deliberately awkward. The younger Holmes sibling looked at his brother dismissively, and answered "No, I just don't care about any of this. It's all so... boring."

At twenty-three, Sherlock was living in a run-down part of London, spending a surprising amount of money on drugs, and not actually doing anything that could be deemed productive. Instead, he spent his time 'solving' crimes the police were stumped by, not that he gave his findings to anyone with authority – his only associates (he didn't have friends) been members of what he'd called "the homeless network". When Mycroft found him sitting on the doorstep, having being evicted _again_, he asked why Sherlock was in this downward spiral, and told him he'd kill himself. "I don't care," came the reply.

Sherlock stands in the newly open air swimming pool, and stares blankly at the scene. How he'd survived the explosion he didn't know, and can't hope John had also managed to avoid death. Turning on the spot, he starts to walk away, feeling tears sliding down his face. When someone calls his name, he doesn't turn back. It's only when John puts a hand on his shoulder and forces him to look that he realizes he's not imagining it, and pulls his only friend into a hug, then a kiss. This time, he cares.

**I MIGHT write something about Mycroft. If you want me to, leave a REVIEW!**


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